


Tick Tock

by katedf



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-03-31 16:11:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3984451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katedf/pseuds/katedf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An approaching birthday and other events have Camille feeling sorry for herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Camille is a strong character, more inclined to be angry and forceful than weak or pitiful. Except for the Aimee episode, she never needed to lean on anyone. So I thought I'd experiment with a different look at Camille.

Fidel was normally a happy, upbeat person. But lately he seemed even more so. Richard had noticed, but said nothing. If it was personal, then it wasn’t the Chief’s business. Camille was curious, but didn’t ask because if it turned out to be something personal, Richard would be embarrassed. Dwayne, who was just about impossible to embarrass, tried to ask a few times, but Fidel managed to evade the question and the Chief looked uncomfortable, so he gave up. 

One morning, when the usually prompt Fidel was late, Dwayne said, “So what do you reckon is going on with Fidel? He’s awfully cheerful these days.”

“Why shouldn’t he be?” Camille replied. “He’s got a wife he adores, a sweet child, he lives in a tropical paradise. That looks like a recipe for happiness to me. Anyway, it’s better to be happy than grumble all the time.”

“It’s none of our business,” grumbled Richard. Camille looked at Dwayne and rolled her eyes in exasperation. Dwayne did his best to hide his smile by dropping a pen and crawling under his desk to retrieve it.

“Good morning! Sorry I’m late!” a chipper Fidel strode into the station. He sat down, turned on his computer and grinned at the blank screen.

“Hey now, Fidel,” said Dwayne. “What’s going on? You’re practically bouncing off the walls these days.”

“We’ve decided we’re ready to tell people. Juliet’s pregnant!”

“Congratulations!” said Richard heartily.

“Well done!” said Dwayne, slapping Fidel on the shoulder.

Camille just squealed and hugged Fidel.

“This calls for a drink!” said Dwayne. Then, looking at Richard, he added, “After work, of course.”

After the usual questions—how was Juliet feeling, when was she due, did they know the sex of the baby—were asked and answered, work resumed as normal. 

-o-o-o-o-

When they went for drinks after work, Camille commented that she was pleased that Fidel didn’t say “we’re pregnant.” 

“I’ve never understood that,” said Richard. “Why would a man say that he’s pregnant? He doesn’t carry the child for nine months. Or give birth.”

“Or have to give up caffeine and alcohol,” said Camille pointing to Fidel’s bottle of beer.

“I know better. I said ‘we’re pregnant’ to Juliet’s older sister the first time around and I got a lecture on how I’m wasn’t going to be the one who would puke endlessly or have my body blown out of shape or have my feet swell or go through the agony of labor.” Fidel shuddered. “She scared me! I was grateful that Juliet didn’t hear all of that. She was nervous enough when she first found out she was pregnant.”

“But now she knows more, so she should be less nervous,” said Richard, who believed that knowledge was the cure for any woes.

“You’d think so, but she still worries. First scan is in two weeks. We were going to wait until then, but she said she was afraid I’d die from the stress of not telling anyone.”

“Everything went well with Rosie,” said Camille, resting her hand on Fidel’s. “No reason to expect complications this time. And tell her if she needs a break and wants me to watch Rosie, I have some days accrued. If we aren’t in the middle of a big case, I’d be happy to use leave days to help.”

-o-o-o-o-

At his shack that evening, Richard’s thoughts strayed to Fidel and Juliet. He was happy for them, although he was beginning to worry that Fidel’s facial muscles would go into spasm from all the grinning. Camille’s offer of babysitting services was kind. Richard remembered how nervous he’d been the night he babysat. He’d looked in on Rosie a few times, always grateful that she was asleep. She was so tiny and helpless! When he’d held her on the day she was born, he was terrified he would drop her. Then he looked down at her and thought what a little miracle she was. He felt a small twinge of envy, but stifled it quickly.

Richard shook his head to clear his thoughts. He repeated his mantra, _Don’t wish for something you can’t have._

That night, Richard dreamt he was babysitting. _He looked at the infant, satisfied that she was sleeping calmly. When he looked around, he saw he wasn’t at Fidel’s house. The crib was in his shack! Then a familiar voice said softly, “You thought you’d never have this and now look at you! The doting daddy.”_

He woke and looked around the shack. No crib, no baby. He turned over and tried to go back to sleep. 

Later, he dreamt he was in a hospital to visit Camille. _He walked into her room, relieved to see that she looked tired, but otherwise all right. Then he noticed all the flowers in the room. It was practically a tropical jungle. Camille was holding a little bundle. She held it out to him and said, “Do you want to hold your son, Richard?”_

o-o-o-o-o-

Alone in her little house, Camille felt restless. She was happy for Fidel and Juliet. Of course she was. They were such a sweet couple, and Fidel’s happiness had lit up La Kaz like a beacon. She looked at her living room and imagined the clutter of magazines and kicked-off shoes replaced by picture books and toys. Instead of spending a half hour looking for the lost TV remote, she’d be searching for a misplaced extra-special teddy bear. 

“Stop it!” she said as she picked up the shoes she’d just slipped off and threw them toward her bedroom. “Where the hell is that remote?”

That night, Camille dreamt she was babysitting Rosie, as she had promised earlier. _They were at the beach, sitting near the water’s edge. She watched Rosie excavate for a sand castle, which was taking shape as a pile of sand. Suddenly, a boy about a year older than Rosie ran up to them. “Maman!” he cried. “Look at my seashell!” Rosie turned to look, too. But it wasn’t Rosie. As Camille tried to figure out who the children were, a familiar voice said, “I believe the shell is a species of Littorina. We can to look it up when we get home.”_

-o-o-o-o-

The next few days were quiet, so Richard decided some file sorting was in order. The Commissioner had arranged for some storage space at Government House, and Richard wanted the oldest closed files to be boxed up first. 

“I know it’s boring. But it has to be done. Almost everything from the oldest drawers can go. Just check to make sure you put only closed cases into storage. And check the computer log to make sure the relevant information is in the data base.”

Camille was reading files and then giving them to Fidel for database work. She set a pile of folders on his desk and went to get another stack. As she walked to her desk with an armload of folders, something about the way she was holding them in her arms made Richard imagine she was holding something else. 

She dropped the folders on her desk with a _thud,_ and Richard jumped at the sound.

“Be careful!” he said. 

“They’re just files, Richard. There’s nothing breakable in here.”

“Oh, right, sorry.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, just a moment’s distraction. Do continue.”

-o-o-o-o-

The next week, Fidel took a morning off to accompany Juliet to a doctor appointment. Dwayne went out to do a patrol of the market. Camille was reviewing a case in preparation for an upcoming court appearance. Richard tried to do supervisory paperwork, a task he hated but couldn’t avoid. He leaned back in his chair and held up a piece of paper as if he was reading it. But actually, he was watching Camille. 

She was concentrating on the file, and paying no attention to him, giving him a rare opportunity to ogle. He’d been attracted to her for a long time and although he fought it, she often showed up in his dreams. Usually she was teasing or arguing. Sometimes the dreams wandered into territory he tried to avoid. Those dreams were always sadly incomplete. They would just end abruptly, as if part of his mind was telling another part of his mind that although he wanted her, he’d never have her.

But lately the dreams were different. They weren’t about wanting sex. They were about wanting a life with her, a future. He’d been dreaming of babies. Her babies. _Their_ babies. Was this some sort of natural progression? Real babies were the result of real sex. Were dream babies the result of dream sex? Was he losing his mind? 

Dwayne returned from his patrol and stood quietly in the doorway. Something was going on with the Chief and Camille. Well, probably not going on with them together. But each was different lately. The Chief seemed distracted. Camille seemed a bit sad. The Chief tended to watch Camille when he thought nobody was looking at him. But Dwayne didn’t miss much. He’d caught Camille looking at the Chief, too. Right now, the Chief appeared to be looking at Camille and daydreaming at the same time. 

Richard gave himself a mental shake, slapped the paper on his desk, and sat up straight.

“Something wrong, Richard?” Camille asked.

“Hmm? No. I just, you know, hate doing these reports.”

Seeing that the gazing was over, Dwayne made himself known. “Everything is quiet down at the market.”

“Good. Thank you, Dwayne,” said Richard. “Did you—”

“Look! It’s a baby!” Fidel burst in, holding copies of Juliet’s scan.

The two men looked at the scans politely, trying to figure out what they were seeing. Camille smiled, but Richard felt that the smile was forced. Fidel was on the verge of serious oversharing when the phone rang. 

There had been a scuffle on the ferry and crew members were holding the two men involved. Richard sent Dwayne and Fidel to collect the offenders. After they left, Camille returned to her desk. Richard stood leaning against the front of his desk, looking down at Camille.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes, why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know. You didn’t seem interested in the scans.”

“I know Fidel was excited, but there isn’t a lot to see at this stage.”

“No there isn’t, but I thought women loved to coo over those things.”

Camille shrugged. “I guess I’m not the type that coos.”


	2. Chapter 2

Camille walked into the station and slammed her purse onto her desk.

“Did something go wrong at court?” Richard asked.

“No, that went as planned,” she replied. “I made the mistake of stopping by to see Maman on the way back. I can’t believe her latest move!”

“What has she done?”

“She’s gone and set up a blind date for my birthday. My BIRTHDAY! Which I wasn’t all that keen to celebrate anyway. AND she knew that. All I wanted was drinks at La Kaz and let it go at that. But now I’ve got a date.”

“I thought she was having a party for you,” said Dwayne.

“She is. You’re all still invited. And so is the blind date. It’s ridiculous! Totally inappropriate.”

“Would it be better if we didn’t come?” Fidel asked.

“No! Maman has invited you. You’re my friends. That’s all I need. I don’t want some stranger there. I don’t want a fuss. I don’t even want a birthday, but I guess I can’t avoid it. And remember I said no gifts! Just come and dilute the blind date.”

-o-o-o-o-

The phone rang that afternoon just as Dwayne and Fidel were at the door. They stopped and turned back as Camille answered. She shook her head and waved them out. She mouthed _prosecutor_ to Richard.

“Yes, Mr. Parker.”

pause

“Oh, that’s good news.”

pause

“Well, thank you, but it’s all down to him. He did it and he was stupid about it. Do the crime, do the time, right?

pause

“Thank you for letting me know.”

Camille hung up the phone and smiled at Richard. “Guilty!”

“Well done, Camille. I’m sure your testimony was responsible.”

“Mr. Parker said that, too. But you remember the case, the guy left plenty of clues, so it was easy to show he’d done it.” Camille put the file in the cabinet and closed the drawer slowly instead of her usual careless slam. 

“Do you want a drink to celebrate?”

“Thanks, Richard, but no. I don’t want to go to the bar tonight. I’m not in the mood for celebrations.” Camille hesitated, then said, “And um, I’m sorry for earlier. I should not have blown off steam like that. The station is not a place for a tantrum.”

Richard smiled. The station had seen plenty of tantrums, so this apology was unusual. “You don’t need to apologize. I just don’t like to see you upset.”

“Maman and I have been around this before and I usually shake it off. I don’t know why I’m bothered about it this time. It’s just… she can’t have it both ways. If I’m getting too old, then I should be old enough to run my own life.”

“If there’s anything I can do…” 

“No, I’ll get over it. I always do. Don’t worry about.” She picked up her purse and headed for the door. “See you tomorrow.”

Richard watched her leave. Something in the set of her shoulders and the way she walked was different. This seemed to be more than the usual mother-daughter argument. Richard considered offering to talk to Catherine to ask her to back off on the blind dates, but she was even more volatile than her daughter, and he was terrified of the scene that might ensue. And, really, it wasn’t his place to say anything to his subordinate’s mother.

-o-o-o-o-

On the evening of Camille’s birthday party, Richard, Dwayne, and Fidel arrived at La Kaz together. Catherine had decorated with paper streamers, balloons, and a sign that said “Happy Birthday.” Apparently Camille’s wish for a low-key birthday had gone unheeded.

“Where is Camille?” Catherine asked.

“She said she was going home to change for the party,” Richard answered.

“Yes,” said Dwayne, hoping a little levity might be in order. He gestured to himself and his colleagues. “She wants to look good for all of her admirers.”

“Oh. Then have a drink while we wait. Richard, tea?”

“Actually, Catherine, I’d like a beer, please.” Seeing her raised eyebrows he added, “I think a drink is in order for a festive occasion.” 

Richard watched Catherine fetch their drinks. Camille had been oddly quiet at the station that afternoon, and now Catherine seemed tense. He suspected there had been another argument over the party. He thought that if sparks flew, it might help to be slightly anesthetized. He glanced at his watch and wondered why Camille wasn’t ready yet.

“Shouldn’t Camille be here by now?”

“Oh, sir,” Fidel replied. “A woman can take a long time to get ready. Juliet is pretty low-maintenance and even so, she takes ages. I mean, she’s late getting here, too. ”

“Don’t ask me,” said Dwayne. “I don’t know how long it takes, I just tell them they look pretty.”

“Catherine looks a bit tense.” Richard took out his phone and called Camille. “Hmm, voice mail.”

“Maybe she’s in the shower or looking for something in the back of her closet. Juliet has a shoe mine in her closet.”

“Oh, yeah, the shoes,” Dwayne nodded. “You’ve always got to compliment the shoes.”

As Dwayne and Fidel laughed about the foibles of women, Richard watched Catherine glare at her phone. Perhaps she had tried to call Camille, too. This was not going to be a good night. A line from an old movie popped into his head. _Fasten your seatbelts. It’s going to be a bumpy night._ Then Catherine suddenly ran to the entrance.

“Greg! It’s so good to see you. Camille is running a bit late. Please come in and meet some of her colleagues.”

Catherine made introductions and brought another round. The men chatted amiably, although Richard thought Greg seemed uncomfortable in the odd situation. When another half hour had passed and she’d tried to call Camille three times that Richard saw and who knew how many other times, Catherine said they should start eating because the food was ready. 

Richard tried texting, _Is something wrong?_

The reply came quickly _I’m fine._

_Where are you?_ he texted.

_Not at La Kaz._

_So I see. Your date is here._

_Say hello for me._

Richard stared at his phone. He had no idea what that meant. Was she not coming at all? He texted _?????_ But he received no answer.

“I don’t think she’s coming,” he said.

A minute later, Catherine appeared at the table. She asked if everyone had enough food, offered to get anything else they needed. Then she asked to speak to Richard privately for a moment. She was smiling, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. This couldn’t be good.

“What’s going on?” she said as soon as they were away from the table.

“I don’t know.”

“She talks to you, Richard. Did you know she wouldn’t be coming tonight?”

“No! I tried to call her but she didn’t answer. I texted and her answers didn’t come right out and say it, but I don’t think she’ll be here.”

“She won’t.” Catherine was working herself up to a full-throttle tantrum. “She just texted me to say we should party without her. How do we have a party without the person it’s being given for?”

“I don’t know. All I know is she was unhappy about the blind date. But that isn’t anything new. You know, perhaps that is the problem. You always set her up with similar guys—doctors, lawyers… responsible, reliable men. It’s possible that isn’t the kind of man Camille wants.”

“Why wouldn’t she want someone like that?”

“She’s, you know, lively. Perhaps she’s looking for someone adventurous? What you see as reliable she may see as too staid. I don’t know. It’s just a thought. But perhaps you should let her make her own choice.”

“She’ll do nothing if I don’t prod her!”

“She’s independent. I think she resents your attempts to… well, I think to her it feels like you’re trying to run her life.” Seeing that Catherine was about to turn her anger on him, Richard backpedaled. “Look, I don’t know why she’s angry. It was only a guess. I’m sorry I brought it up. I think I’ll be going.”

-o-o-o-o-

Richard was surprised to find Camille sitting on the steps of the shack.

“Camille? What are you doing here?”

“I heard this is the place to go to avoid a birthday party. What’s that?” she pointed to the plate Richard held.

“It’s cake. The party sort of fizzled without the guest of honor. Your mother sent everyone home with a piece of cake. I didn’t really want any, but your mother insisted. She was a bit cross, so I took it rather than start an argument. I’ll just, um…” he gestured toward the shack.

“May I?” Camille held out her hand. “I didn’t have any supper.”

Richard handed her the plate and sat down next to her. “How long have you been sitting here?”

“Since around the time the party started. I told you, it’s a good place to avoid a party. It’s what you did, remember? Richard, why did you run away from your birthday party?”

“I don’t like to be the center of attention.”

“Oh, come on. You love it. Trotting out all the clues, going through the litany of suspects…”

“That’s different. I know what’s going to happen and I’m in control. Any other time I’ve been the center of attention, it’s been… well, not good.”

“Croyden?” she asked softly.

“Yeah.” He stared out toward the sea for a while, then said, “But you… you’re the life of the party. You enjoy being social, and you’re never awkward or the butt of anyone’s jokes. Why wouldn’t you want to be at your own party?”

Camille shrugged and picked some icing off the cake.

“I know you’ve been unhappy lately, Camille. There must be someone you can talk to. Juliet, maybe?”

“No!”

Richard was surprised at the vehemence of her answer. “I thought you and Juliet were friends.”

“We’re friendly. But not friends in the sense… I don’t have friends like that. Definitely not a best friend. Not now that Aimee…” Camille sniffled, and Richard held out a handkerchief. “Thanks. We didn’t see each other often, but we were in touch all the time. Texts, emails. Sometimes we’d get into long email discussions about our lives and where we were going. All the other girls we knew from school are married and busy with their kids and their husbands. Aimee and I were the only ones taking the career route. We understood our choices. And now, I feel like there’s nobody I can talk to. I’m sorry. I know you don’t like… _sniff_ ”

“Don’t apologize. And you’re wrong, you know. You don’t have to feel there’s nobody to talk to. You’ve got me.”

They sat in silence for a while. Camille remembered the night at the weather station. She’d said something like that to Richard. She’d wanted him to know that he didn’t have to be so alone, that she was his friend. Now, months later, she’d admitted to herself that she wanted more than that. For now, she was settling for friendship and hoping the friendship would grow. But how long could she wait? The blind dates and her mother’s pointed remarks about grandchildren made her worry that she didn’t have a lot of time to wait. 

Richard was surprised at their conversation. Camille’s comment about not having close friends was unexpected. In his more honest moments, he would admit to himself that he had no friends. After Aimee died, Camille had tried to say that she and Dwayne and Fidel were his friends. He’d stopped her because he didn’t want to be sentimental. The night of the storm, Camille had offered friendship when she said “You’ve got me.” And now he’d made the same offer to her. Richard reminded himself of the old saying, if you want to _have_ a friend, you’ve got to _be_ a friend. 

So he thought about the friend sitting beside him. And it all came together. A birthday is a reminder of getting older. He knew that only too well. He’d had more birthdays than Camille. All of her old friends had kids. Yeah, nearly all the men he’d worked with in Croyden had wives and kids. It was one of the many ways he’d been odd man out. Juliet was pregnant, and God only knew what Catherine had made of that. Richard could imagine the prodding, the comments about wanting grandchildren. Camille always seemed to shrug off her mother’s comments, but deep inside, it must hurt.

“I understand, Camille. Juliet, your birthday, your mother’s nagging about grandchildren. You feel you’re missing out on a part of life. If it makes you feel any better, it gets easier. You get used to it, accept your life for what it is. I mean, yeah, sometimes things happen to make you wonder what might have been. Like now, with Juliet and Fidel. And you have to remind yourself that your life is what it is, and keep moving on.”

Camille looked at Richard. In the dim light, she could just make out that firm set to his jaw. That determination not to let life make him unhappy. She wished she had his resolve but knew she never would. The tears that had been threatening to fall all day poured out.

“I’m so ashamed!” Camille sobbed. “I didn’t want to see Juliet. I didn’t want to be reminded of what she has and what I don’t. Envy is an ugly thing, and I don’t want to be like that. And then there’s my birthday. Every year I get older and my time gets shorter. Does Maman really think I need to be reminded of that? Do I need to be reminded that Rosie is a little darling? Or how cute baby buggies are? Every time Maman looks pointedly at a baby or a young family, my brain screams TICK TOCK!”

“You’ve still got plenty of time.”

“That’s easy for you to say. Men can have babies their whole lives.”

“Technically, men can’t have babies, they—sorry! Pedantic, too pedantic. But you _do_ have time.”

“There was a story on the news about some man in his 80’s fathering a child. No woman can have a child at that age. Parenthood is available to men longer than it is to women.”

“Mostly available to men with enough money to attract much younger women.” Richard smiled ruefully. “If I didn’t find a woman by the time I was 40, I think it’s safe to say I’ll have zero chance at twice that age.”

“But you still have the _possiblilty._ I won’t have that forever. I’m well on my way to being the doll with the wonky eye.”

Richard sighed, “I wish I’d never used that expression. If anyone around here is the doll with the wonky eye, it’s me. You’re lovely. You’re beautiful, smart, passionate. I can’t understand why one of those blind date guys hasn’t snapped you up.”

Camille shrugged. “They’re boring.”

“All of them?”

“Oh, Richard, they’re all the same. Doctors, bankers, respectable and reliable.”

“This evening, I said to your mother that perhaps those reliable types weren’t what you wanted. I don’t think she was pleased with that comment.”

“My father was irresponsible, so Maman is trying to find me someone opposite. But they’re boring! I want someone interesting.”

_Well, that lets me out,_ Richard thought. “You should have come to your party. You could have wished for someone interesting when you blew out the candles.”

“You don’t believe in that stuff.”

“No, but if it will cheer you up a bit, we can do that now. I’ve got some emergency candles. You’ve picked off all the icing, and don’t show signs of eating the cake. So we can jam a candle into the remains of the cake and you can make a birthday wish.”

“That’s silly!”

“Better than respectable and boring, I suppose,” Richard said as he walked into the shack.

“No. Richard, I don’t think you’re boring,” Camille said. But he didn’t hear her. He was in the kitchen searching for a candle. 

Richard returned with a candle and matches. He managed to get the candle to stand up in the cake. He lit the candle and softly sang the happy birthday song. They looked at each other for a moment, then he looked down at the candle, afraid that if he didn’t break the gaze she’d see too much in his expression.

“Make your wish,” he said. He smiled when she closed her eyes tightly, screwing up her face like a little girl wishing as hard as she possibly could. 

Then she opened her eyes, took a much deeper breath than necessary for one candle, and blew it out with a big puff. Richard had been steadying the candle. When he let go, she reached over and took his hand.

“Thank you for that. It was sweet.”

“I hope you get your wish.”

Camille looked down at their hands and said, “I didn’t wish for a deep-sea diver or a lion tamer or a movie stuntman, if that’s what you think. I didn’t wish for someone at all. I wished for courage.”

“Courage? But you’re fearless.”

“Not really. I wished for the courage to…” _Do it! Say it!_ “To tell you that you’re the most interesting man I’ve ever met.”

“I thought I was—” Richard was about to remind Camille that she’d once said he was the most annoying man she’d ever met. But she looked up at him and the look of hope on her face stopped him. After a moment he said, “I thought I would be in the boring category.”

“No. You’re the reason the other guys are in the boring category.” _Come on, Richard, figure it out!_ “I go on the blind dates because of Maman. But there’s never a second date, and that’s because of you.”

“Because I’m interesting?”

Camille sighed. “Yes. And I hoped you might find me _interesting,_ too.”

“Interesting?” He shook his head. As Camille started to withdraw her hand, he held it tightly and said, “Interesting doesn’t come close. Fascinating. Captivating. Enchanting. Mesmerizing. And out of my league.”

Camille started to say something, but he spoke instead. “I still say you have plenty of time left. But if a backup plan makes you feel better, we could make a pact. Choose a timeframe, say three years. I’m already on the shelf, and if you think you will be by that time, we could take pity on each other. You know, wonky eyes and all?”

“A pact?”

“Yes, an agreement, a deal.”

“I know what a pact is, Richard. I’m thinking about the terms. All right, I agree. I think we should seal the deal.”

“Handshake? Sign in blood?”

“Handshake is too businesslike. Blood is a bit extreme. I think…” Camille leaned forward and kissed him. It was sweet and tentative, but it lasted longer than a handshake. 

“Did I say three years? I think I meant to say two.” Richard smiled nervously.

“Two would be good,” Camille answered. This time, Richard initiated the kiss, less tentative and longer. 

“Or perhaps one?” Richard countered, pulling her close. “You know, before the wonkiness factor—”

Camille cut him off with another kiss, and when they came up for air, she sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. Then she nuzzled his neck and whispered, “Or we could take pity on each other tonight.”


End file.
